Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Jane died last week…" Becky said as she brought food to the table. She had been in her thoughts all day after hearing the news. St. Damien's was as busy as any hospital, small on account of being for an island city but large enough, and Becky was always busy with one thing or another in the pediatric wing. Always some kid to look after. But last week had been strange… the ambulance's sirens had felt so off-putting for some reason she couldn't place at the time, attributing it to being Christmas Eve. Something bad had happened and though in the moment she hadn't known who had been transported in… It had still made her stomach churn.

Jane had died with her husband and child by her side in the hospital, they said. They'd tried to stabilize her but it was no use, she wasn't able to recover and she'd passed away. Becky hadn't known who it was until she'd heard the muttering of her coworkers just that morning. She wondered if a part of her had known, if that's why she'd felt so suddenly uncomfortable with those sirens.

"Who?" Stanley looked up from his phone and cocked his head. There were plenty of Janes… was that one of the kids she was carrying for?

Becky looked at him, sitting down. "Oh- sorry. Tom Houston's wife. They got into an accident on Christmas Eve, she didn't make it." Becky wasn't her nurse, there was nothing she could've done… So why did she feel that familiar pang of guilt? She hoped Tom was okay, losing your wife of so many years that quickly… on the 24th too, she couldn't imagine…

Was that why Jane's death made Becky so sad? Knowing Tom would be all alone, suddenly a widower with a young son and no living family left in Hatchetfield? She'd loved Tom once, thought they'd be together forever. They'd both moved on of course, but she still cared for him, how could she not.

Stanley hummed in recognition, nodding. "Damn. They got a kid, don't they?"

"Yeah…" She couldn't eat. "I'm thinking of going to the funeral. It's next week." For some reason, that sparked a nasty sort of laugh from her husband, one that made her jump. There was that familiar, cruel glint in his eyes as he sneered at her.

"As if. I'd rather see you dead than hangin' around Tom Houston again." He looked back down at his phone and continued eating. Becky's mouth felt dry, she just looked at Stanley. Just watched him.

Who was he to say that? When Tom and her separated, when they had gone their separate ways it had been fine because it had been them. It was their choice. Who was Stanley to keep her from Tom? She felt the anger leaking onto her face but couldn't stop it this time, couldn't hold it back like she had trained herself so well to do in the past. Something snapped inside of Becky at his words and it couldn't be put back together fast enough.

How dare you?

Stanley looked up, almost shocked. "What was that, Rebecca?" She also recoiled, not only at her full name being used- which happened rarely and often meant she was very much in trouble- but also at the realization that she'd spoken that aloud. There was no turning back now as the anger continued to boil up.

"You heard me, Stan." Her voice shook as she spoke but she didn't take her eyes off of him, almost challenging him.

"I'm afraid I did." He snarled, jaw clenched. He grabbed her by the wrist, tugging her forward. "Now you wanna give me an apology before I have to beat one out of you?"

Becky was sick of this, she was tired of putting up with this. Exhausted by the days she'd come home just wanting to sleep after excruciatingly long shifts only to have to deal with this. Exhausted by walking on eggshells every moment of every day, even the good ones, praying that she wouldn't accidentally break whatever goodwill was somehow between them in the moment. She was sick of the black eyes and the bruises around her throat, tired of the beatings and the assaults and the abuse. Sick and tired of feeling worthless and weak and scared. She was so sick and tired of this shit.

Yanking her arm back sharply, she startled him enough to free herself and stand up. "I'll go if I want to go! You can't keep me from the funeral of my friend's wife! That's insane!"

Stanley watched her without standing, fist clenched and muscles taut. He looked almost as furious as she was. "Rebecca…" He warned. He didn't warn her often.

"No! Fuck this! Fuck you, Stanley!" She spat, heart beating so incredibly fast. "I can't do this anymore. You can't keep me from living my life! I'm not your fucking pet to lock away at home and order around!" He was standing now, she refused to back down. "I'm done, Stanley-"

He was a strong man, so when he hit her it always hurt. Pain shot through her skull before she registered what had happened, stumbling backwards as her ears began to ring. He was yelling, she couldn't make out the words through the ringing in her ears as he reached out and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back towards him and grabbing the collar of her shirt with the other hand. Becky had never fought back like this before and a terrified part of her knew that if she didn't leave now… she'd never again have a chance to.

He was yelling something about how she had no one here, how she couldn't leave him if she tried- how he'd never let her leave him- she wasn't paying attention to the words as she grabbed at his arm, digging her nails into his hand deep enough to draw blood trying to free herself from his hold. One hand found his face and she dug her nail in and swiped, feeling the warmth of blood against her fingers as he snarled something obscene, hand in her hair and trying to get a good hold on her. She kicked out as hard as she could, feeling her foot connect squarely with his crotch. He let go with a pained yell and Becky took her chance and scrambled away, pulse rushing in her ears as he shouted after her.

"Get back here, you little whore!" He sounded angrier than she'd ever heard him before, his voice a snarl like a beast. It was all Becky could do to run and not look back. She wasn't wearing shoes but it didn't matter- she wasn't stopping.

Becky felt every stick and stone through the snow as she ran into the woods, well aware that Stanley was right behind her. The snow was freezing and the roots cut into the soles of her feet, branches whipping at her face as she ran into the woods. She probably should've gone out the front door instead- run next door for help instead of out into the Witchwood Forest behind their house- but she hadn't. And now she was running as fast as she could through who knew how many miles of forest, praying that the man chasing her would get sick of it and maybe leave her be, or maybe she'd lose him with all the twists and turns she was making.

What was her plan even? Her wallet, her phone, her ID, those were all at home? This was stupid- there was nothing she could do she should've just kept her mouth shut. Maybe she could go back- fix this- She could hear him, a ways back but his voice was clear through the near silence of the late night woods. "C'mere Becky! I said I'd see you dead- don't make me a fuckin' liar!"

She couldn't go back. She'd never go back. She was certain that if he caught her… he'd kill her. She couldn't let him catch her.

Becky hadn't always been scared of heights. When she was a little girl, the trees were safe. High up, nothing could touch her… but one day, she'd been climbing trees in her parent's backyard. She'd fallen from a tall one and broken her arm very badly- she could remember seeing bone where it shouldn't have been- being told she could've died... That fall, the feeling of falling so far and being unable to catch yourself as your stomach flipped and turned over itself was terrifying. It'd stuck with her ever since and she'd never been able to go higher than a couple branches without feeling that aching terror of vertigo. Even in high school, she'd struggled to be the flier in their routines because the feeling of being thrown in the air terrified her. She knew they'd catch her, but she'd been nearly in tears when they'd practiced so often that they'd had to put Patty Howard in her place.

She was so scared of heights… but she could hear Stanley gaining on her. Either the fall would kill her… or Stanley would. She was frozen in front of the tree, fear overtaking her as she fought with herself to just climb it.

Finally she forced herself to move. The bark of the Witchwood tree was rough, it cut into her hands as she began to scale it. Her body fought her at every movement, fear paralyzing her limbs as she struggled to force herself a branch higher.

Fear won. She wasn't fast enough.

A hand closed around her ankle and her hold on the branch broke as a strong hand dragged her down from the tree, sending her to the ground. The wind knocked from her lungs as she fell hard onto her back. Stanley was standing over her, chest heaving as he panted. Blood streamed down his face where four distinct scratches arched down his cheek, and as moonlight broke through the canopy her eyes were caught by a glint of silver.

He'd brought a knife.

Stanley didn't say anything as he lunged for her, bringing the knife down and missing her by an inch as she scrambled backward.

She was going to die in these woods, wasn't she?

No. No she wasn't. She didn't survive fifteen years of this shit to die now. Becky's hand shot out to grab his wrist, pushing against him with all her might as he wrestled her to the ground attempting to drive the knife into her chest or throat. The adrenaline was pushing her harder than ever before as she fought him, kicking and scratching and shoving and fighting with everything she had. Becky felt the knife slice into her shoulder at one point, too close. She slammed his hand into a root, sending a spasm through it that caused him to send the knife a foot or so away. There was a pause- hardly a heartbeat- as they both realized what had happened. Nearly just as fast they both reached for it, Becky shoving him off with a kick as she went for the blade. He scrambled up, lunging for it as well.

But Becky was faster and all of a sudden, for the first time in fifteen years… she had the upper hand. Stanley growled in anger as she turned on him, dragging her back to the forest floor as he tried now to get it from her.

"I'll-" He heaved through his exertion. "I'll fuckin' kill you-"

There was an opening as he brought his leg up to trap her down. Becky had been a good study throughout school, and while they teach you how to save a life… you pick up fairly quickly how to end one as well.

The blood spray was immediate, warm and wet as he let out a roar of pain, falling backwards and away from her. Becky followed, fury and desperation in her eyes as she drove the knife deeper, slashing down as hard and as far as she possibly could before pulling the knife back. He tried to stand as she dragged herself away from him, tears and blood staining her cheeks as she scrambled to her feet. She could clearly tell she'd severed something as he cried out in pain and fell back to the ground, swiping out to grab her.

"Get- augh- back here!" Stanley shouted through grit teeth, the snow and ground around him quickly growing a deep red. She didn't stay to hear anymore, taking the knife and running the way she came as fast as her legs could carry her.

She wasn't sure if she had hit his femoral artery, where she'd aimed. She wasn't sure if he was still coming after her. All she knew was she had taken the only shot she'd ever be given, and be it in the femoral artery or not- that shot had found flesh. The blood was so warm, the snow was freezing cold, her breath burning in her lungs as she finally broke the tree line and could see her back door, still open.

Her brain was clearer than it had been in weeks, there was no questions as to what had happened, no uncertainty… only dread and lingering fear. She made it home, throwing the knife as far away as she could, slamming and locking every door and window she could with shaking hands and finally backing away from the glass back door…

She'd watch the tree line for the next several hours, until the sun came up. She waited but she saw no sign of Stanley.

Everyone else would assume he'd grown bored of her, weak little Becky, and run off to Clivesdale with some other woman. But she knew the truth. She knew the snapping feeling of tendon and muscle yielding to the knife. She knew the heat of an arterial blood spray. Becky knew what she'd done…

Maybe he crawled somewhere for help… maybe he died in those woods… Becky Barnes never saw him again.